There were a lot of great happenings last Saturday night. First off, Supercross on live television is paramount. If we want to run with the bulls, we at least have to be in the same pasture. Nobody (corporate sponsors) gives a hoot about what happens the next day, or 12 hours after the gate drops. Here is a big fist pound to the folks that made it happen, although they still can't capture the vibe the way they need to. There is nothing in the world like the Anaheim air on opening night. The vibe is a jet-fuel-chugging animal that is salivating for the gate to drop. A dead horse it may be, but hey, Ace Frehley, New Jersey called and they want that guitar back in their landfill where you got it. Hot garbage doesn't quite cover it. But I digress...
The good stuff on the track came by the heap. It's still way, way early to say that #338 has changed, but coming from four months in prison to the main event in the gnarliest sport in the world deserves accolade. Piggy backing J-Law's effort was his new teammate Grant Langston, pulling down a top ten in his first race since 2008. I don't like Lawrence at all, but having a happy warrior like Grant close to him could really manifest something positive. A lot of hard lines and sunken cheeks with those two. I hope they keep it rolling.
I was also cheering for my man, Davi Milsaps, when he smoked his heat race. Davi's a really interesting character and has more talent in his left boot then half the guys. He showed he can run if he gets a start. The song remains the same for Josh Hill. A quiet sixth place answered the call, in my opinion. I knew going into the season that there was going to be a hornet's nest around Ivan Tedesco, Kevin Windham, and the two aforementioned young lions. It's going to be nasty from 4th to 10th place all season.
Now, on to round two. Phoenix always delivers some haymakers. Especially to James Stewart. In 2005, he broke his arm. There has been a lot more weirdness in Phoenix, and I'd keep a keen eye trained for something big to happen this Saturday night in both classes. It's been a kooky week. The moon must be doing something, because everything I've seen on TV and in person seems to be going bat-poop crazy.
Case in point: "Pants on da ground, pants on da ground, hat on sideways, pants on da ground! Gold in your mouth, hat on sideways, pants on da ground!"
I'm smelling something cooking in the creepy kitchen. Chad Reed caught the bad juju last weekend, and if he wants to have a shot at a third title, he needs to pray for an equal allocation of bad luck among the Big 3. And mark my words, he will wish he had those extra points when Vegas arrives. A simple wheel change and he gets, what, five more points? Where was Fisher, or someone, on that one? Can I get a spare wheel for $500, Alex? How many points did #22 lose the title to Stewart in 2009 by? Oh yeah...
Let's get ready for some more sound and madness, and write the book on pain! The times of high adventure and drama are upon us. Watch out! I believe adventure and drama are just what are headed our way.